Alexander-Fyn-Sanguinarian

face. Evangeline knew she looked a fright with her hair coming loose from her long braid and stuck to her face with rain. Her nightgown was plastered to her skin, revealing far more than was decent. “Come, Miss Rutledge, I will show you the way.”
    When Evangeline failed to follow her, Raven picked her up and strode ahead of Munk, taking the stone steps two and three at a time.
    The walls flew dizzily past as they went along passages and climbed more and more steps. A still, biting cold such as she had never known gripped her. This part of the castle seemed more deserted than the rest. There was no sound but that of Raven’s soft footfalls and Munk’s heavier tread behind them.
    At length they stopped at a studded, arched door. Munk sorted a key from the bundle at her waist and unlocked it. Behind the door a vast, round chamber was hidden. The walls were of bare stone, the windows small, but they did have glass in them and Munk went at once to close the shutters against the gray morning light. The room had absolutely no furniture and no fire was laid in the hearth. It was no more than a frigid, empty cell.
    As cold as the grave.
    Raven stood her on the stone floor, icy beneath her bare feet, and walked out. Munk followed him and a moment later Evangeline heard 96
    Fyn Alexander
    the grating of the key as it turned in the lock.
    She was alone in Yorkshire’s equivalent of the Tower of London and all because her uncle had sold her for £10,000. She was hungry and exhausted and she was locked in with no food and nowhere to lie down but the bare stone floor. If she lay there for even a day Raven would find her dead on his return. Was that what he wanted, no, surely not? What he wanted was to marry her and get his inheritance and then he would probably lock her up again and let her die. She had little doubt at that moment that he would do it.
    In utter despair, her hands still tied, Evangeline slid down the wall and sat on the floor with her knees drawn up to preserve what warmth she had left in her body, and, impossibly, she slept.
    When she awoke it was to find Munk shaking her. Strangely she felt quite warm and found that she had been covered with several wool rugs. A fire had been laid in the hearth and one of the silent servant girls carried in coals on a long shovel and set a blaze going. A couple footmen carried in a bedstead with a thick mattress, and two maids were already filling a copper bathtub with steaming water.
    Stiff from huddling on the floor, Evangeline rose and tiptoed toward the fire. At the hearth she leaned in toward the warmth, her thin body shaking. A few more pieces of furniture were brought in—a chair and a writing desk, a couple of heavy rugs for the floor. When all was arranged, Munk shooed out the servants and turned to Evangeline.
    “Miss Rutledge, will you get into the bath, ma’am?”
    “Would you be good enough to untie me?” Evangeline asked, mustering all the dignity she could manage.
    “Certainly, Miss,” Munk replied, quite as though it had often been her duty to untie young women for her master.
    The sight of the steaming hot water was so inviting that regardless of the woman watching, Evangeline threw off her limp, dirty nightgown and stepped eagerly into the tub. She sank down luxuriously up to her neck. “What a relief. I thought I would never be Sanguinarian 97
    warm again.”
    “I will bring up your breakfast tray, ma’am. I am to wait on you until the wedding. His lordship doesn’t trust you at the present time.”
    “I doubt I shall ever trust him.” Refusing to look at the woman, Evangeline did not thank her, but lay drinking in the warmth as she heard the key turn in the lock. For at least half an hour she luxuriated before washing herself thoroughly. Soap for both her body and hair had been provided and a towel lay on a chair waiting.
    Just as the water was beginning to get a little cool she heard the key turn once more and the heavy door opened. Standing up, she reached for the towel to dry herself and saw, not Munk, but Raven with a tray on his arm, looking at her.
    With a screech she sat down again, splashing water on the floor.
    “Get out!”
    Slowly and deliberately Raven placed the tray on the hearth to keep the dishes warm, then crossed the room, picked up the towel and handed it to her. Evangeline did not move, but sat huddled in the water, her arms crossed over her breasts, her knees tight together. The water was cloudy with soap, but still she