Tori Phillips - The Dark Knight

Her masked escort pointed to the deteriorating retainer wall, then kicked at the topmost stone. Without protest from the centuries-old mortar, the rock tumbled over the side. Tonia heard it bounce its way down—a long way down.

“’Tis dangerous, Lady Gastonia,” he murmured behind her. His breath tickled her neck, causing the most unexpected sensation in the pit of her stomach. “Lean back on me.”

Despite her distrust of him, Tonia laid her head against his chest and relaxed in the crook of his arm. Heat emanated from his body, warming her. His rapid heartbeat drummed in her ear; the feel of his hard muscles rippling under his shirt quickened her pulse. When his grip tightened around her, she shivered, though not from the cold wind. Laying her hand on his bare arm, she was aware of the quiet strength within him. He tensed under her fingers. Hastily she withdrew her hand and used it to shield her eyes as she looked out on the dawn’s gilded-pink glory.

This side of the fortress hung over a deep ravine that cut between two mountains. The rising sun’s beams turned a small stream at the base into a rivulet of molten gold. A thin curling mist rose from the water’s surface. Bright blue colored the sky, with a puff or two of white clouds in the distance. A large hawk, his great wings spread wide, drifted on the up-drafts in a lazy circle, searching for his breakfast. The day promised to be the most beautiful one that Tonia had ever beheld. She sighed.

“It pleases you?” he asked in a husky whisper.

“Aye,” she murmured as her gaze drank in the beauty of nature.

They stood pressed together in silence for some time. Tonia wished that the moment would go on forever. She felt content and protected, an odd sensation since she was in the arms of the man who would kill her, perhaps even within this very hour.

Tentatively he fingered a tendril of her unbound hair that fluttered against her cheek. He smoothed it between his fingertips, before tucking it behind her ear.

“I wondered what it felt like,” he explained in a hoarse whisper.

Tonia’s skin tingled with pleasure where he touched the tips of her ears. A shiver of excitement rippled down her spine. She gave herself a little shake. These unexpected stirrings within her would never do—not now. She had to keep her wits sharp if she hoped to buy more time. Stretching on her toes, she ventured to peer over the edge of the unstable wall at the dizzying drop below them.

“What do you seek, my lady?”

Glancing over her shoulder, she held him in her steady gaze. With her heart thudding in her throat, she forced a smile. “I was wondering—where will you bury my body?”

Her guileless question struck him like a dash of ice water in the face. For a few precious moments, Sandor had almost succeeded in forgetting who he was and why he was standing on the edge of the world with a butterfly in his hands.

Behind his mask, he blinked. “I had not given thought to that,” he confessed with honesty. No one had said anything to him about disposing of her body—only cutting out her heart.

She turned in his arms so that she faced him. Sandor instinctively pulled her closer to him. The wall walk was far too narrow for much maneuvering. He looked down at her. The wind whipped her dark cloud of hair in all directions, making her seem almost otherworldly. Her lithe body molded against his. His blood, already heated by her presence, sizzled through his veins.

The lady cocked her head. “The warrant plainly states that you are to bury me deeply in the ground.”

He couldn’t help smiling at her, though his heart hung like a stone at her words. “I am glad that one of us can read that paper. I dare not disobey the King’s commands,” he bantered.

Her lower lip trembled a little in the most provocative way. He was tempted to kiss it, but common sense and his lifelong discipline to distance himself from the unclean gadji stopped him. He was expected to kill her, and he had to keep reminding himself of that increasingly disagreeable fact.

She arched one raven’s-wing brow. “’Tis a great shame that my time with you will be…ah…so short, for I could teach you your letters.”

Sandor would have liked that. Unlike the rest of his clan, he had always harbored a secret desire to read and write. And the beautiful gadji would have been a very pleasing teacher. Banish such foolish woolgathering, Sandor! Remember that she is a walking dead person.

He looked over her shoulders at the mountain peak on the far side of the valley. “I am Rom. We have no need for schooling since there is no holy book for us to read.”

Lady Gastonia stared up at him with surprise in her sapphire eyes. “You do not have the Bible?”

Her question amused him. “Our storytellers say that in the beginning the Lord God handed out His laws to all the peoples of the world. The Jews in the Holy Land wrote down the laws on stone tablets, then later in the scrolls of their Torah. The Christians wrote God’s words in their Bible. The Moors of the desert wrote their laws in the Koran, but the Rom?” He shrugged with a wry grin. “My people were, as always, very poor and they had no paper, so they wrote down God’s laws on cabbage leaves. Unfortunately, a hungry donkey came along and ate up the leaves. That is why we have no book to read.”

She regarded him for a long moment then said, “’Tis a tale for children. It cannot possibly be true.”

He brushed the tip of her nose with his forefinger. He couldn’t help himself. “Who knows? But ’tis a good story all the same.”

She moistened her lips with the tip of her delicate pink tongue. “I would love to hear more of your stories, monsieur. The day is still very young.”

He frowned. Why did she have to remind him of the time? He must be on his way to London before nightfall. His cousin’s stay in the Tower’s dank pit grew longer because of his procrastination. Sandor gritted his teeth.

He guided her toward the open archway that led back inside the fortress. “We burn daylight, my lady. Your company has made me forgetful of my duty.”

She gasped as he pushed her down the dark stairway. “You are going to…to do it now?”

He sighed heavily, his voice filled with anguish. “My will is not my own.”

Spinning around, she placed her hands against his chest. Her warmth seeped through his cold skin, straight to his heart. He stopped in his tracks.

“One thought more before you snuff out my life,” she said in a rush. “The day is cold, the ground probably frozen. No doubt ’twill take you several hours to dig a grave that is deep enough to hold me. If you allow me to sit by your side and keep you company, perchance your work will seem lighter and will take less time.”

“You want to watch while I dig your grave?”

Swallowing, she nodded slowly. “Would you rather have my stiffening corpse by your side? Cold, grim comfort indeed for such tedious work. Let me live a little longer and I could talk with you, mayhap even sing you a song or two, though I must confess I have the voice of a raven, not a lark.”

He rubbed the back of his neck while he pondered her latest request. How had things become so complicated? Yet, her argument had a point. Sandor most certainly preferred to keep her alive for as long as possible.

“By my troth, yours is a silver tongue, my lady. I feel sorry for your future husband—” He stopped when he realized that she would never have the chance to marry. “Forgive my foolish words. I must be light-headed from want of food.”

She gave him a sweet smile. “There is nothing to forgive. I forswore the joys of marriage when I dedicated myself to God. I always expected to die a virgin—just not quite so soon as now.” She stared down at her feet.