Dauntless (Valiant Hearts Book #1) by Dina L. Sleiman

before anyone realized she had wakened.
    A quick perusal of the room revealed a washbasin upon a stand and a colorful tapestry with a pastoral scene hanging on the wall. The humming had not been her imagination, but rather came from a plump serving woman with her back to Merry as she pulled gowns from a chest. Merry guessed her to be of middle years from the streaks of grey offsetting her reddish curls. She took out a gown in an apricot color and shook it before laying it over a nearby chair. Next came a slender velvet kirtle of cornflower blue. “Ah.” The woman sighed. “This shall do nicely.”
    Still coming fully awake, Merry noticed the silken coverlet of purple and pink laid atop her. Whatever in heaven and onearth? She glanced about the room, searching every corner and crevice, but she and the woman were alone.
    She eased herself to standing and moved stealthily toward the open window, her eyes trained upon the servant, but the woman did not so much as turn or cease her tune. Merry approached the window warily. No bars. Thus far the logistics appeared promising. She bounced lightly twice on her toes to prepare for a possible tumbling maneuver. Her body responded just as she wished. Her muscles strong and taut despite her recent ordeal, and her dizziness now fading.
    With a bit of good fortune, she would hop out of this window, and all would be over as quickly as it started.
    As she prepared herself to somersault, she paused for a breath to survey the exit. Then she slumped heavy against the window ledge as her stomach plummeted to her feet. Out the window was . . . nothing—nothing but air, clouds, and a single soaring hawk. Gazing downward she saw the castle courtyard far below her, and beyond that the bustling marketplace of Wyndbury. Her dizziness returned, and she gripped the window ledge tightly.
    Having memorized the place so thoroughly not two weeks earlier, she understood exactly where she was being held. The north tower high over the town, attached to the castle wall. Behind her lay the forest and the only exit. She must have been brought in through that back entry, no one in the castle the wiser.
    “Ah, there ye are, miss,” said the maidservant. “I’ve been sent with clothing for ye, and a warm basin of water to wash. My master wished ye to have a bath, but the guards, they balked something fierce at the thought of toting water up so many stairs.”
    Merry sifted through the clues. The master of Castle Wyndemere held her captive. His guards at the ready. There would be no quick escape from this place. But a bath? Many peopledid not bathe more than a few times per year. Did the man yet wish to steal her virtue? She knew little of his reputation. A king’s man, thus never a friend to her father. If a kindly knight had captured her, her true fate might still await.
    But being fully upright and in control of her senses, she resolved not to faint into oblivion again. She rubbed her hands together. “So, am I a prisoner of the Earl of Wyndemere?” she inquired of the woman.
    “Now, now.” The woman winked. “Why don’t we call ye a guest, m’lady?” Though her wary glance toward the door belied her words and told Merry that the guards stood just beyond.
    And the woman had called her m’lady . Did the servant know Merry’s true identity, or had her highborn speech given her away as a member of the upper class in those few words? She should have thought to disguise her voice, but it was too late now. “Then . . . a guest of the Earl of Wyndemere?” Merry persisted.
    “So sorry, m’lady. I’ve been bid to tell ye nothing. But my master shall speak with ye before long. Let’s get ye out of those grubby boy’s clothes and into this fine kirtle.” She held up the cornflower gown and shook it before her.
    Merry approached it slowly and reached out to touch the smooth velvet. It would indeed look lovely against her skin. Although she had no clue as to whether the gown would prove an asset or a