Robyn Donald - Prince Of Lies

In a hidden recess of her mind she wondered whether she would ever feel really clean again.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said.

Nothing in his tone indicated a need for hurry, but Stephanie suddenly realised that the longer they stayed in the crypt, the more dangerous it was.

Compliantly she tried to follow him across to the door, but her feet refused to obey her will. She began to shake.

‘I can’t walk,’ she said angrily.

‘You’ll have to.’

Although the words were completely unsympathetic, he grasped her hand in his lean, strong one, and somehow she could move once more. Each step felt like knives in her flesh. Abruptly the story of the little mermaid and the sacrifice she had made to gain a human soul flashed into Stephanie’s mind. When her mother had read it to her she hadn’t liked the tale, finding it too sad, but until that moment she hadn’t understood what a truly awful torture Hans Christian Andersen had devised for his heroine.

Tightening her lips, she held back any expression of pain. But when her rescuer switched off the torch and the blackness pressed in again, she couldn’t prevent a choked cry.

‘If you can’t keep quiet I’ll have to gag you again,’ he said, each word stark with the promise of retribution. ‘Walk softly, and don’t talk . If anything happens to me, climb a tree and stay there. Most people don’t think to look upwards.’

The next second she was stumbling behind a man who moved without sound. The door swung open silently, letting in a flood of dim light. At first it hurt her eyes, but as she squinted tearfully she saw stone steps leading up to bars, and beyond them a forest of firs, their trunks and thick foliage blocking out the sun.

Closing the door behind them, her rescuer locked it before leading her carefully up the steps, his back to the wall, his head turned towards the entrance so that all she could see of his face was the stern line of jaw above a hint of square chin, the sweeping angle of cheek, the dark, conventionally cut hair. His hand still engulfed hers; although it was warm and insistent, she understood with a purely female recognition that it could be cruel.

At the top of the steps he waited so long that she began to drift into a kind of trance. Then, apparently satisfied that the woods held no lurking enemies, he unlocked the bars and slipped through, shielding her with the graceful bulk of his body.

It was like all the thrillers she had ever read—the gallant, aloof hero, the abused heroine, the dangerous trek to safety. Perhaps if she could have viewed the situation as popular fiction she’d have been able to cope with the sick dismay that washed through her when he turned up the mountain and began to climb, half pulling her along behind him.

Gasping within seconds, exhausted in minutes, she knew she had to keep going, so she gritted her teeth and ignored the pain. He helped, hauling her over rocks, stopping occasionally to let her regain her breath. Her heart was thumping too heavily in her chest for anything but its erratic beating to be heard, and in a very short time she was engulfed by a headache and a spreading nausea that almost subdued her.

But anything was better than being locked in a box, unable to free herself. With the characteristic doggedness that came as a surprise to most people, Stephanie scrambled behind her unknown rescuer, grateful for the trees that sheltered them.

At last the steep slope levelled out. ‘Stay here,’ he said in a quiet, almost soundless voice, pushing her unceremoniously into a crevice beneath a rock.

Stephanie collapsed, peering through the bushes that concealed the narrow cleft, but he disappeared before she had time to query him, so she put her head on her knees, stiffened her jaw to stop the shameful whimpering she could barely control, and let her body do whatever it needed to recover. She was still panting when he slid back through the whippy, leafy branches with as little fuss as an animal.

Still in the same low voice he asked, ‘How are you feeling?’

‘I’ve felt better,’ she said quietly, avoiding the cold clarity of his gaze. ‘On the other hand, just recently I’ve felt worse. I’ll be all right. How much further?’

‘About a mile.’

As she struggled out he said, ‘I think it should be safe enough to carry you,’ and in spite of her automatic recoil he picked her up and set off.

Keeping her face rigidly turned away, she wondered why liberty didn’t taste as good as she’d imagined it would in those nightmare days of imprisonment. She should have been ecstatic, because she’d expected death, and now there was a future waiting for her. At the very least she should have been relieved. Instead, an icy chill eddied through her, robbing her of everything but a detached recognition that she had been imprisoned and was now free.

Freedom was easy to say, she thought with a scepticism that hurt. Common sense told her that her body would mend quickly enough, yet as she lay there in the powerful arms of the man who had released her she wondered whether some part of her mind would be incarcerated in that box for the rest of her life.

‘My car’s not too far away. When we get there I’m going to have to put you in the boot,’ her rescuer told her, his voice reassuring but firm enough to forestall any protest. He still spoke as though they could be overheard. ‘It will be bloody uncomfortable, but it’s necessary, and I’ve put a mattress in there to make it a bit easier. I’m almost certain no one’s been watching me, but we’ll be going through several villages and the last thing we want is someone remembering that I had a passenger. So you’ll have to stay hidden.’

Although her skin crawled at the thought of further confinement, Stephanie understood the need for caution. Mastering the flash of panic, she said, ‘Yes, all right.’ She thought his words over before asking slowly, ‘Will S—will my brother be there?’

‘No.’ He paused before explaining, ‘He’s busy dealing with the men who did this to you. You and I will have to lie low for a while until it’s over. I can’t even get a doctor for you in case they have a local contact, but I have some experience in this sort of thing.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ she said automatically, wondering where he’d gained this experience. First-aid training? A book on how to look after kidnappees?

Being rescued, she decided, closing her eyes, must have addled her brain.

He climbed for what seemed ages. Mostly Stephanie lay in a kind of stupor, accepting without thought the novelty of being carried, the controlled, purposeful toughness of the man. It did occur to her that he must be immensely strong, for he moved without any visible signs of exhaustion. And although he might not think there was anyone watching she could feel his alertness, a fierce concentration on every signal sent by the world around them. Several times he stopped and listened.

Whenever that happened she made herself still and quiet, trying to slow her heartbeat, calm her racing pulses and the rattle of air in her lungs, the interminable thud and throb of her headache. Although she too listened hard she could hear nothing but the sounds of the forest—an occasional bird, the soft rustling of a breeze in the trees.

Once she roused herself to whisper, ‘Are we there?’

‘Not quite.’ When he went to put her down she surprised herself by clinging. ‘It’s all right,’ he said gently. ‘I’m just going to scout around and make sure no one is about.’

‘Don’t leave me.’ Although she despised the note of panic in her voice, she couldn’t control it.

‘I’ll be keeping a good eye on you.’

A small, childish noise escaped her lips.

‘That’s enough,’ he said sternly, bending to thrust her into a cleft beneath a rock that broke through the bushes. ‘I haven’t gone to all this trouble to lose you now. Just sit there, princess, and I’ll be here again before you’ve had time to get lonely.’ He stepped behind a tree and disappeared, far too silently for a man of his size.