Improbable Eden by Mary Daheim Page A

neither was guilty of plotting against his sovereign lord. Marlborough had said as much, and it must be true. Even more outrageous was her inclusion in the arrest. Thus, since the night had passed with no apparent effort to release them, Eden had decided to take matters into her own hands.
    The guard was panting with a mixture of exertion and anticipation when he arrived with a much-dented tin tub and a big pewter jug. Fighting repugnance, Eden reached out to take the water. But the guard had no mind to wait for the niceties. He banged the jug down so hard that some of its contents splashed onto the rushes. Eden’s attempt to play the coquette was foiled. The guard lunged across the narrow room and fell upon her, almost knocking them both into the tub. Jarred, Eden gasped for air and was about to try reasoning with the wretched man when he began ripping at the muslin of her bodice.
    â€œ Hold,” she breathed, fighting to keep panic out of her voice. “I must bathe first!”
    The guard’s answer was to rip her gown on the diagonal, then paw at her thin chemise. Eden wiggled beneath him, trying to escape his greedy hands. The game had gone badly; her inexperience had disqualified her from the start. The protest that rose to her lips took on a shrill note as the guard yanked down the chemise to reveal her full breasts.
    â€œ Damn!” he whistled between the spaces in his teeth, “now there’s a lovely sight!” To prove his point, he covered her breasts with his sweating palms, squeezing and flattening them as if they were bread dough. Eden’s cries were strangled in her throat; her entire body throbbed with revulsion. Was this what men and women did when the kissing was done? She couldn’t imagine it, couldn’t equate such bestial savagery with the smug faces of Cybele and Genevieve after their wedding nights.
    Eden stretched out one arm so tautly she was sure it would snap. But a great, straining effort permitted contact with the pewter jug. Squirming under the guard, she wrapped her fingers around the handle and brought it down on his bald head with a resounding thud.
    She did not see the stupefied expression on his face, for the water cascaded over them both. His groping fingers fell away, his squat body went limp, and Eden kicked free. Struggling to her feet, she brushed the water out of her eyes with one hand while she tried to fasten her bodice with the other. At her feet lay the guard, a nasty red bump swelling on the top of his head. She marshaled her thoughts, then leaned down to remove the heavy iron loop that held several keys. She hurried out into the passageway and was relieved to find that it was empty.
    She had no plans other than to escape the guard and her cell. Having accomplished both, she puzzled over what to do next. Locking the door behind her with the proper key, she decided to turn to her right. The guard had come from the opposite direction; his post must be avoided.
    Moving on tiptoe, she noted that the three other cells in this part of the Tower were unoccupied, though she knew that Max was being held somewhere nearby. She hesitated, unsure of where to go next, then froze in place. From around the corner of the corridor’s bleak stone walls, she could hear the approach of brisk footsteps.
    Terrified, Eden glanced around her. There were no hiding places, no privy stairs, no recesses of any kind. She would have run, but it was too late. The other person came around the corner, all but tripping over her cringing figure.
    â€œ Eden!” Max grabbed her by the arm to make sure she didn’t topple over. “What in the name of St. Hubert are you doing here?”
    Eden swayed, then put a hand on his chest to steady herself. “Well, now.” She swallowed hard, feeling awkward in her torn dress, embarrassed by the disrespect she had shown him earlier, but most of all, conscious of his solid presence, which she found surprisingly reassuring.