Read Online Dark Champion by Jo Beverley - Free Book Online Page B

man casually, making Imogen instinctively scuttle backward. She saw the man’s eyes widen. A nervous turn of her head showed a chilling expression on FitzRoger’s face as he gazed at him.
    Again, Sir Renald was the peacemaker. “Use your wits, Will. This is the sweet demoiselle we are rescuing from the vile monster. Save your nasty streak for him. I’m sure when Lady Imogen has considered the matter she’ll see sense.”
    Imogen rather thought there was a warning in those last words, but she couldn’t seem to think straight. Though Bastard FitzRoger had willingly come to her aid, her instincts screamed that she shouldn’t trust him entirely. After she was in control of her property, she didn’t want him knowing its secrets.
    She swallowed and licked dry lips. “It’s clear there are few people left in the castle, even if they are soldiers. If there were many, they wouldn’t be able to stay invisible. It should be no great matter to take the place.”
    “Of course not,” said FitzRoger amiably. “Why don’t you lead the way up to the gate?”
    She stared at him. As soon as she became aware it was open, she closed her mouth with a snap. “I am not a soldier.”
    “Whoever leads the way is going to get killed, soldier or not,” he remarked pleasantly. “Don’t you think the honor should be yours, since it’s your castle?”
    He twisted everything she said. The world didn’t make any sense anymore. “But I’m the whole point of this,” she heard herself say. “If I’m dead, Carrisford will revert to the Crown.” It sounded terribly selfish. Was it her duty to lead the force? She supposed if she were a man it would be…
    “How true,” FitzRoger said with a sigh. “What a shame. In that case, Lady Imogen, perhaps you should nominate a deputy. Who would you like to see killed in your place? Myself? Renald? The nasty man who wants to mangle your feet?”
    She had been right to distrust his smile. When it focused on her, she felt her face flame. “I don’t know,” she mumbled sullenly.
    “The decisions are all yours,” he said implacably. “Perhaps you would prefer that we turn around and return peacefully to Castle Cleeve. That way nobody need so much as prick his finger.”
    Imogen buried her head in her arms, fighting an urge to weep, an urge to scream. If she had a weapon she would have tried to silence that mocking voice in any way she could.
    The worst thing was that he was right. He didn’t have to bludgeon her over the head with it. A direct attack would be successful but would cost lives. A sneak attack through the secret entrance could well be bloodless, at least on their side.
    She raised her head and gave him a stare she hoped would blister his soul. “Get me some ink and parchment.”
    It was there so quickly she knew it had been waiting to hand. Stony-faced she began to sketch in the failing light, explaining as she went.
    “The entrance in the cliff is very hard to find. Even when you’re close you won’t be able to see it. It’s above an arrowhead rock, however, and if you just follow the way the arrow points, you will come to it. It’s the merest slit and the very largest men will not fit through.” She looked at him and said with relish, “Even you will probably not be able to go through in armor.”
    He was silent and impassive.
    “The passage is dark and very narrow,” she continued. “But any man who can squeeze through the entrance can make it through the passage. It would be best to use no light as it is awkward enough to sidle along without extra things to hold, and there’s nothing to see. The floor is smooth, and there are no outcroppings or other hazards. You just have to have faith that all is well ahead of you.” She shuddered slightly at the memory of the few times she had gone through the deepest passages. Total dark. The feeling that one was in an ever-narrowing space without end.
    She looked up and saw something strange. His eyes were not so green. No,