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HighlandAngel
Super-Earth
- Joined
- Mar 1, 2013
Genevieve DeRenault walked quickly down the dungeon steps. Several bruises covered hr body and she no doubt had a few broken ribs but she was alive. The beating had come after she had tried to escape, only to be captured with an Irish man trying to help her. She was in bad form and could only imagine the state of her helper. So she had bided her time, putting herbs in all of the wine so all would sleep in order for her to escape and help the man who had tried to help her before.
Whispering a soft prayer, she closed her eyes as she touched the final step, hearing naught but snores from the guards. Even her betrothed was asleep, no doubt with one of his many bedmates. He had not gotten her into his bed yet. It was about the only thing her chaperone had kept her safe from. Since her arrival, she had been beaten, abused and humiliated. The man she had thought to love was naught but an image. Sir James was a man of darkness and as his wife, she would be damned. Slipping down the last step, Genevieve saw the Irishman sitting, looking beaten and bloody. Quickly, she grabbed the keys from his jailer then started to unlock the door. Once inside, she frantically began to work on undoing his shackles.
"We....haven't much time,"she whispered in Gaelic, glancing up at him, trying not to show her pain. "If we take horses, we can travel faster and toward some safe place....perhaps to your camp....your men," she said, hoping he let her come. Lord knew she prayed for salvation from her current hell. With shaking fingers, she fumbled with the locks on his hands, seeing the rawness of his skin. He needed proper care but none would be given here.
Whispering a soft prayer, she closed her eyes as she touched the final step, hearing naught but snores from the guards. Even her betrothed was asleep, no doubt with one of his many bedmates. He had not gotten her into his bed yet. It was about the only thing her chaperone had kept her safe from. Since her arrival, she had been beaten, abused and humiliated. The man she had thought to love was naught but an image. Sir James was a man of darkness and as his wife, she would be damned. Slipping down the last step, Genevieve saw the Irishman sitting, looking beaten and bloody. Quickly, she grabbed the keys from his jailer then started to unlock the door. Once inside, she frantically began to work on undoing his shackles.
"We....haven't much time,"she whispered in Gaelic, glancing up at him, trying not to show her pain. "If we take horses, we can travel faster and toward some safe place....perhaps to your camp....your men," she said, hoping he let her come. Lord knew she prayed for salvation from her current hell. With shaking fingers, she fumbled with the locks on his hands, seeing the rawness of his skin. He needed proper care but none would be given here.