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Day five in the cage is almost as bad except I am too dizzy to do anything except sleep and cry. By day six I have no more fight in me, and so, I lay praying to the Christian God for the death that they wish upon me. I will never get out of here.
“One more day, darling.” Christian’s tired voice is almost as sad as his eyes when he strokes my dirty hair. “Tomorrow marks the seventh day and you will be free.”
“I threatened your Princess.” I whisper. “What if he does not come?”
“Victoria is not my Princess, you are.” He corrects me. “And she sends her humble apologies for the way her maid behaved and, for any lies she told about me and her. I do not love her, and we never pretended that I did, Maeve.”
“What happened to my head?” I am confused. “Did someone hit me?”
“The servant thinks you may have been dreaming.” He is whispering with me. “You woke up and crawled into the bars as if you could pass through them. It knocked you out for hours.” His voice cracks. “I was not sure if you would ever wake up again...”
The pain in his voice is more serious than the bump on my head. A bump that will be gone in a few days. The fearless Christian is not so fearless after all. He fears losing me.
“I was dreaming.” I remember now. “I was out of the cage and we were talking. It was when I went to you that I must have smashed my face on the bars.” I touch the bandage wrapped around my head for show. “My head was split open like a melon.”
“This thing was built to hold the strongest of enemies.” He wraps his hand around one of the recently scrubbed bars. “These were not made for mankind.” Christian muses.
“What if I never get out of here?”
“You will.”
“And if I never do?” I need to prepare for the worst. “You have to promise me that you will not keep me like this if no one can open the cage. It has only been a week and I am ready to give up.”
“I can make you no promises.”
“This is no life. What if the baby’s head is too big to fit through the bars when it comes? I cannot raise a child in this cage.”
“A babes head is very soft. It will fit.” He says. “Can we wait until we know you are stuck before we talk about putting you down like a lame horse?”
“What if the man does not come?”
“I will sail this cage back to its maker and he will open it.” Christian promises. “I will spend the rest of my life trying to free you. But I have faith in Victoria’s man. She consorts with shady characters and keeps company with barbarians. Who knows what he will turn out to be?” He kisses my hand. “I do not care if he can free you.”
“Tomorrow.” I sigh wearily. “One more day, maybe two.”
“I love your spirit.” Christian leans his head against the bars. “Do you know that?”
“What spirit? I barely lasted a week in here.”
“You are not meant to be caged, Maeve.” He helps me sit up. “None of us would behave the same, if we were locked-up in a small cage.”
“I hate it.” I breathe deeply to settle myself inside and dry up the tears that want to fall. “I will die in here, if no one can free me.”
“We will see.” He reaches into his vest. “I brought you this. It is poetry written by a young poet that is making a name for himself.”
I take the slim volume and admire the vellum cover and gilded lettering on the binding. I have never heard of this poet. I open to the first sonnet out of curiosity. By the fourth line I am smiling.
“Read it aloud, Mae.” Christian makes himself comfortable. “I want to hear what makes my reading wife smile so prettily.”
I read the first line and continue while thinking to myself. One more day. One more and I will be back in his arms again.
“Where is he, Victoria?” Christian yells angrily. “You said a week and it has been ten damn days! Is he on his way or not? Do not have us waiting for someone who is not coming. My wife is losing faith, and I am losing patience.”
“He will come, Christian.” She insists. “Rumi is late, but he will come. Maybe he was not in residence when my message arrived. I know him, and he would never ignore my plea for help.”
“I think I hate this cage more than she does.” He wipes the sweat from his brow. “All she does is sleep and she is losing weight. How can she grow a strong child when she is in despair?”
“He will come, Christian.” Victoria leads him to a chair. “Sit down. The stress is aging you and making you act crazy.”
“Highness.” The kitchen servant bows. “I brought food for the Princess.”
“Good, she will eat it, or I will tie her down and force feed it to her.”
“Yes, Highness.” He bows again and approaches me. The food smells good and he was correct, the last thing that I want is to be forcibly fed. The servants serve me in bowls small enough to fit through the bars. The saffron rice smells wonderful and the beef and gravy looks hearty. My mouth waters in anticipation. I am starving.
I scream when a loud crack, pierces through the quiet noise of the chamber. The table collapses underneath me, and the cage hits the floor with a ring and wet crack. The servant pinned underneath is smashed to death. His head mashed through the bars when the cage landed on its side. I scream again as I stare down at him in horror. I am on top of him so there is no way to avoid touching him. I have never seen a corpse so badly broken and I scream again.
“Get some men in here to help pick her up.” Christian yells at the bed servants.
He snatches a curtain from his bed and shoves it inside the toppled cage to cover the poor man. I follow his directions stiffly as the corpse is covered, but I feel the lumps and soft mush underneath me. Oh God. Make this all go away. It takes a small army to roll the cage off the dead man and hours to get it upright again. I am stuck on the floor now because lifting it is impossible. Me and the cage are scrubbed again, and the padding changed. I am out of things to say. I am out of smiles to smile. I am out of tears to cry. So, I lay here and wait for whatever is coming. The magician... or death.
It is the feel of eyes on me that drags me from my sleep and only means of escaping the cage. I blink in surprise, but I do not speak. They are the dark eyes of a stranger. His pale face is surrounded by silky, black curls that wave away from his masculine perfection. His handsome nose and strong chin should be immortalized in sculpture. His jaw is rough with a dark shadow. What a beautiful man. Who is he?
“I hear you are waiting for me. He speaks with an accent. “I was away when Victoria’s letter arrived.”
“Who are you?”
“I am not what you expected.” The man smiles sympathetically. “You are not what I expected either, Highness.”
“Why are you in my bedchamber?”
“Where are my manners?”
His voice is pleasant, but I sense a mischief about him. This man is trouble.
“I am Rumi Widowmaker.”
“Can you free me?”
“I will free you, Princess.” He assures me. “But I would understand, if your husband wanted to keep something as beautiful as you in here. If you were my wife, I would only let you out at bedtime.”
Rumi Widowmaker is bold and charming. He is also very foolish to flirt with the Butcher’s wife. His closeness makes the hairs on my arms stand up. I have felt this way before... When I saw little Nickie in the woods. I sit up to get a better look at him. He is no common man. This Rumi is one of us.
“I am a married woman.” I remind him.
Why I am blushing instead of being angry? Because Rumi Widowmaker is not like other men. He is different and in ways that I cannot explain. His smile makes me nervous. I look away from him. Is it hot in here, or is it him?
“Your modesty is refreshing, Princess.”
The man walks around the cage testing the bars before kneeling to study the lock.
“I rarely meet a modest witch. Where did they find you?”
I look around to see who is witnessing his reckless words.
“I am no witch.” I hiss at him.
“These Christians do not know what you are, do they?” He realizes. “Your secret is safe with me, Princess.”
“They have their suspicions. Someone told the Cardinal my name.”
“You are not safe here.” Rumi rubs his chin as he contemplates his next move. “If you stay, they will kill you.”
“My husband will protect me.”
“I hear your marriage is null.”
I do not stop him when he reaches into the cage and brushes a stray curl behind my ear. I get an odd urge to turn my face into his hand, so, I do. His callused hand caresses my cheek.
“If the church does not approve of a union, then it does not exist. The Beaumont is not your husband. The two of you can pretend all you like, but it does not make it so.”
“Please get me out of here.” I beg him softly. “Please?”
“I swear to you, Princess. This is your last day in this cage.”
“How will you release me?” I ask. “Magic? Strength? Tools? Are you a wizard?”
Rumi smiles so beautifully, that I feel gifted every time his lips curl up. “No, Princess.” He says. “I am no wizard. I am the half-caste bastard of a human and a blood-taker and the best thief in the land. There is no lock built well enough to keep me out, if I want what is inside.”
Our eyes hold for longer than is proper. I look away first blushing again. He is not dressed in fine clothes or decorated with gold crosses and crests. This Rumi is dressed like a commoner.
“Where is everyone?” I ask him when I realize we are alone.
“The King died in his sleep last night.”
Rumi reaches inside his vest and removes a silver flask that he takes a sip from. He offers it to me. Part of me wants to drink from it because he did, but I do not drink strong spirits. I refuse with a polite thank you.
“It is water.” He offers it again.
Christian would kill him, if he found out about Rumi’s flirtations. So, I will be sure to keep him out of my head. I am not used to the attention of handsome men. I am ashamed to admit that I am flattered. This Rumi has something about him that makes women forget about their handsome husbands when they are looking at him. The way he is staring at me makes me wonder what kind of person he is, except he has already admitted that he is a thief. It is common knowledge that a thief will lie and do whatever it takes to get what they want. Rumi Widowmaker, is a thief, but I suspect the women come to him of their own free will. A thief is sneaky, greasy, manipulative and everything in between. They cannot be trusted.
“Why am I still in this cage, Widowmaker?” I ask him politely. “Please free me.”
“I have never been this close to a high-witch, love.” He whispers. “My heart is racing, and my hands are shaking a bit. Please give me but a moment more of your precious time. Your husband will never let me speak to you again when he has you to himself.”
“What have you heard about me, thief?”
I am alarmed now. What does he think he knows about me? Who has he been talking to? He can be a spy for the church. I cannot trust anyone, especially a blood-taking thief that flirts with other men’s wives.
“First off, Princess. Do not ever refer to me as a thief again.” His sharp eyes are dark with anger. “What I spoke to you, I spoke in confidence because I assumed we were on the same side. If you were anyone else, I would leave you in here to rot.”
“Rumi, I have been locked in this damn cage for twelve damn days!” I yell at him. “I apologize if I am not falling at your fucking feet and kissing your ass because you are handsome.” I hiss at him. “I have a handsome husband, so I do not fall over every pretty face that I see. If you are going to let me out, then let me out. Do not play these sentimental games with me. If you are not here to help me, then fuck off.”
Rumi rears back in shock. Then he laughs. “Touché, Princess.”
He stands up to his full height. I am happy he is tall and finely made. Not as big, and gorgeous as my Butcher, but his slim body has its own appeal.
“Minette.” He says. “Free the Princess so that we can be on our way home.”
I do not notice the woman kneeling behind him until she stands. There is not much to her, but there is no question that she is a woman grown. The first thing I notice is how unpretty she is. I would never speak it aloud, but she is. There is nothing deformed, or wrong with her, she simply is not pretty. It happens sometimes. Not everyone is born attractive. Her light, golden skin and silky hair are to be envied but her station gives me pause. Is he keeping her as a slave? There is no way that I am letting this woman like me leave here as his slave.
“Is she your wife?”
I know that she is not, but it gets the reaction that I want. Rumi is speechless.
“Wife?” He finds his voice. “I am not married, Highness.” He chuckles. “Minette is my thrall.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that she has dedicated her life to serving me.”
“She is your slave?”
“No.”
Rumi smiles and ignores her when she kneels before the lock. I watch her with interest.
“Minette is with me because she wants to be with me. She has been my thrall for a very long time.”
She sticks two iron picks into the lock and turns them together.
