Demon Angel

Isabel, fear pinched the women's expressions. The countess watched him with calm, steady attention, trust shining in her eyes.
    Hugh's gut tightened. "I will go," he said without thought. "If thieves wait, I shall flush them out before they can cause harm."
    Georges's eyebrows rose, disappearing behind the brow of his helm. "Do you wish to prove your mettle, there are more worthy opponents man outlaws. Let us go on; they would be foolish to attack a party as well armed as ours." A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Of course, perhaps a jaunt into the mist would allow you to end this journey with an act of courage."
    Noting the knight's wry tone, Hugh reddened. Was his attachment to the countess so obvious? And, apparently, harmless—Georges seemed to view Hugh's feelings with amusement rather than concern of infidelity or disloyalty.
    "Go on, boy," Georges urged quietly. "Had we been in danger, they would already be upon us. And I doubt the lady we saw belongs to a band of thieves. More likely, you shall find her lover's braies left behind in his haste to escape." He raised his voice and cried, "Rout them, my brave lad! I shall cover your backside!"
    Hugh lowered his head to hide his embarrassment and laughter, but obediently kicked his horse into motion. Once off the road, the gelding picked his way between the foundations and discarded stone of the nearest buildings, his steps muffled by the soft clay and thick grass.
    At the temple's southwest corner, he paused and glanced behind him. Fog masked both road and travelers. The trepidation roused by the woman's appearance had faded during his conversation with Georges, but now, isolated from sight, his tension returned. If he and Georges had mistaken their safety, Hugh's display of bravery could endanger them all. Holding his sword at ready, he circled the temple walls, keeping their solid bulk on his left. Even should someone hide within the temple, he could not attack Hugh through the thickness of the masonry. Though perhaps by climbing the rough, rectangular stones… Hugh stole a glance upward, almost expecting to see a horde of thieves peering over the walls. No one. He grinned in self-reproach, chided himself for his nervousness, and approached the temple entrance. His horse skirted around the fallen columns. His apprehension eased into confidence when his first glimpse into the interior revealed it to be empty. But as he urged the gelding past the threshold, a moan sounded from the southeast corner.
    Pivoting his horse with pressure from legs and reins, Hugh backed his mount against the opposite wall. He hefted his sword in warning, and his vision quickly adjusted to the dim light inside… there. A man stood by the—
    Hugh's eyes widened and he barely contained the laughter that threatened to erupt from him.
    Sir William Mandeville. D'Aulnoy's seneschal had not changed in two years, though Hugh had never seen him stretched as he was now: his hands tied over his head, his hose bunched around his spindly, white ankles. His partner had left him with the hem of his surcoat resting atop his erect rod and trailing down either side, exposing his ballocks and inner thighs. A woolen scarf covered his eyes, but couldn't disguise the rigid cast of his ruddy features, nor his rage and fear as he cried out, "Who is there? I hear the footsteps of your horse! Reveal yourself, coward! You dare look upon me in secrecy?"
    The query cut through Hugh's amusement; silently, he watched the man struggle against his bonds. A part of him enjoyed the seneschal's humiliation; he well knew Mandeville's temper and pride, had been a target of the cruelty lingering beneath his words and actions. Mandeville was a fine seneschal, but should he realize Hugh had seen him in such a state, he would make Hugh's position in the castle unbearable.
    As his status could not survive Mandeville's hatred, Hugh swallowed the response that rose in his throat, along with the temptation to declare himself the owner of this bit of power over the knight.
    The gelding shifted uneasily beneath him, as if in response to Hugh's tension. There was nothing to do here—nothing to report. With a press of his heels, Hugh guided him back the temple's entrance. Once outside, he drew on the reins, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply the clean, thick air. A trembling had taken hold of his hands, and his sword rattled against the wooden scabbard as he sheathed it.
    Shame and temptation shook him equally. If he