Free Dark Champion by Jo Beverley

that was not it. His pupils were unusually large. “Go on,” he said a little sharply.
    “The darkness does end,” she said. “When the entrance joins the castle passageways, there is light through narrow slits in the walls. Or at least,” she added doubtfully, “there is during the day. Light or not, you’ll know you’re there because the passage widens slightly and the walls are dressed stone, not rock. There is a door at that point into the castle proper. It opens into the storage cellars.”
    She looked around. She had their close attention.
    “If you continue in the passage there are steps up. Over the top step there is another door, a trapdoor into the floor of the garderobe off the solar. It should push open but has been little used…”
    She carried on drawing and explaining until all the secret ways were laid out for them. Then she handed the parchment over to FitzRoger. “After this is all over, the entrance will have to be sealed,” she stated.
    “Undoubtedly,” he said, but her words seemed to amuse him, which worried her.
    “I think I should lead the party to take this route,” said Sir Renald, and reached for the parchment.
    “No.”
    There was a cold, hard edge to the word which sounded strange to Imogen, but she was past trying to make sense of all this. She just wanted her home and security back.
    The men left her alone as they waited for darkness to fall. Cold meat and ale were passed around and she was given some, but otherwise she was ignored. Clearly she was now of no further use. She fretted about her decision to reveal the secret passages. But what else could she have done?
    She cast bitter looks at FitzRoger, Renald, and the other knights, who sat together making plans. Or perhaps just gossiping. There was occasional soft laughter.
    Imogen lay down, for sitting was becoming hard on her backside. She tentatively tried putting weight on her feet and decided it was still a bad idea. She probably could crawl around the camp on hands and knees, but that was hardly attractive.
    Eventually it became clear she was going to have to do something. She had determinedly ignored her body’s needs all day and been moderate in drink, but her bladder could not be contained indefinitely.
    She cast a wary eye at the men, and then quietly rolled over onto her hands and knees and began to work her way behind some bushes. Her skirt practically strangled her until she gathered it up under her paunch. Her feet hurt every time she jarred them, and soon her knees were complaining violently.
    “Trying to escape? Or are you going to take the castle single-handed after all?”
    Caught on all fours like an animal, her skirt bunched up so he could see most of her legs, Imogen hated him then more than she’d ever hated anyone, even Warbrick. No, not more than Warbrick. “I need to piss,” she mumbled.
    There was a sharp sound that she recognized as laughter. Trust him to find such a thing funny. “I suppose you do.
    How easily we forget these simple things.“ He sounded sympathetic, almost friendly. Her ears must be playing tricks. She began her laborious crawl again.
    “Stop that!” he said sharply. ‘Turn around and I’ll carry you into some privacy. Beyond that I have no suggestions. I doubt it will be simple, after all.“
    From pride Imogen would have refused his aid, but she feared he would just haul her up anyway, which would likely show him how unstable her “baby” was. She rolled over to sit and glared up at him. “This isn’t funny.”
    He did look well-disposed. “No. I hurt my feet once and I remember how awkward it made simple things. And men have certain advantages.” He scooped her up and she struggled to get her skirts around her legs. “Stop wriggling or I’ll drop you,” he said.
    She stopped, but she colored when she saw how appreciatively he eyed her bared legs.
    Once they were behind some bushy yew, he lowered her gently enough to the ground and left. She watched