“The last I saw of Catherine, she was
kneeling by your body.”
“Achard has her.” Royce looked as if he
wanted to murder someone. “Achard hit her. Then he seized the stool
and ran out of the room for a moment, I suppose to make sure no one
was on the stairs. That's probably when he discovered you lurking
outside and struck you down. He came back, tossed Catherine over
his shoulder, and left, closing the door after him. A cool man, to
think of that little detail. I couldn't stop him, because I was
still following your foolish scheme, so I was temporarily dead. I
made the mistake of assuming that you would stop him and release
Catherine.”
“Achard has Catherine?” Braedon tried to
think past the pain in his head. “Dear God, no.”
“We both know what he'll do to her,” Royce
said. “Achard is determined to marry Catherine.”
“Cadwallon found me and shook me till I woke
up,” Braedon said, recounting his version of events. “I told him
Achard was gone and to order the castle gates closed, including the
postern gate. He went to tell Captain William. It should be done by
now.”
“William's men will know whether anyone has
left the castle,” Royce said. “At least you did something right
during this clever debacle of yours. But Wortham is a large place.
Assuming Achard hasn't left, he could be hiding Catherine almost
anywhere within these walls.”
“Then we search the castle from battlements
to cellars,” Braedon said, “and pray we find Catherine before
Achard rapes her. I warned you about Achard days ago. I told you
how he treated Catherine down by the river. You should have stopped
him then.”
“Achard isn't the only spy involved in this
particular game,” Royce said. “I required solid proof that he is a
double agent for King Louis, and I needed the names of Achard's
accomplices. Otherwise, simply eliminating Achard will make little
difference to the web of spies he has established.”
“So, to catch a few of King Louis’ agents,
you put your daughter's life at risk.” It did not escape Braedon's
notice, even in his current state of rage and head pain, that if
the lady involved had been anyone but Catherine, Royce's reasoning
wouldn't have mattered quite so much to him.
“I had no choice,” Royce said, his lips
thinned by anger, his face pale with worry. “My duty to King Henry
comes before all else.”
“Then you must live with whatever happens to
Catherine,” Braedon snapped. “Unfortunately for her, so will she
have to live with the consequences of your decision to allow Achard
to court her.”
“You cannot imagine what I am feeling at this
moment,” Royce said.
“Perhaps not.” Braedon regarded his superior
with something perilously close to contempt. “I do know that I
would never have set Catherine's value as low as you have. Not even
for my king.”
Royce met his eyes for a tense moment before
turning aside to pull on a fresh tunic. Then Cadwallon knocked on
the door, entering on Royce's command.
“The castle is secured,” Cadwallon reported.
“Captain William is certain no one has left or entered since the
feast began some hours ago. Achard is still within these walls. We
will find him, Royce. It will just take a while.”
“He has Catherine,” Braedon said.
“What? Will he use her as a hostage?”
Cadwallon cried. “By heaven, if he harms that sweet lady, I'll rip
his heart out!”
“After I castrate him,” Braedon stated,
setting his mouth in a grim line.
“The honor of striking Achard first belongs
to me,” Royce said, girding on his sword belt. “I am her
father.”
Hearing that claim, Braedon clamped his teeth
shut and refrained from speaking all the harsh words he wanted to
say to Royce. He told himself that Royce was suffering, too, that
he did care about his daughter far more than many men cared for
their female children. Catherine's honor was a reflection on
Royce's own honor, and Royce would see to it that the wrong done to
her by Achard was suitably revenged.
But Royce did not know Catherine as Braedon
did. Only Braedon had ever held her close as their bodies became
one, only he had seen the look on her beautiful face as she tasted
for the first time the passionate delights of womanhood. The
thought of Achard forcing himself on Catherine made Braedon's blood
boil, and he vowed if he found Achard first, he would not wait to
grant Royce his parent's right to punish the brute. With a groan of
anguish Braedon headed for the stairs.
“Where are you going?” Royce called after
him.
“To put away this trick knife I used on you
and get a real blade instead. I'll need my sword and a dagger when
I meet Achard,” Braedon answered. He started down the steps toward
his own room.
“Braedon.” Cadwallon stopped him with a hand
on his shoulder. “I have only seen you this angry once before. Take
care. Achard is a man far more dangerous than Eustace.”
“I could not punish Eustace for hurting
Linette,” Braedon said, “but this time nothing will prevent me from
administering justice.”
“The king will want to speak with Achard, and
he will not take kindly to the person who prevents that
conversation.”
“Then, I will just geld Achard,” Braedon
promised. “I won't kill him. Not today.”
“I think Achard would rather that you killed
him,” Cadwallon said. “He'd much prefer your sharp sword to the
traitor's death King Henry will certainly order for him.”
“All the more reason to keep him alive,”
Braedon responded with a fierce smile. “I will heed your warning,
old friend.”
The search for Catherine was conducted
quietly and efficiently so as not to disturb the guests.
“There will be panic if your guests learn
there’s a desperate man loose, who holds Lady Catherine captive,”
Cadwallon advised Royce. “You will have men and women running
around, some of them terrified and some trying to help, and all of
the resulting confusion will only make finding Achard and his
prisoner more difficult.”
Royce and Captain William both agreed with
this reasoning. Swearing to Royce that no one could move about the
castle for very long without being caught, Captain William posted
men-at-arms at all appropriate locations and used the remainder of
his men to assist Royce in the search.
Toward dawn it occurred to Braedon that
Achard could have made a second foray into his room, this time to
steal the poppy syrup that induced a deep sleep. Achard might have
decided to force Catherine to swallow the syrup as a way of keeping
her from crying for help or from fighting him and trying to escape.
Braedon did not doubt for a moment that unless she was heavily
drugged, Catherine would fight Achard at every opportunity.
Without telling Royce, who was supervising
the search of the kitchen and the storerooms, Braedon returned to
his chamber.
“I've been waiting to catch you alone.”
Gwendolyn followed him into the room. “You want to hear what I have
to say.”
“Do I?” Braedon decided the quickest means of
getting rid of her was by listening to her and then sending her on
her way. He wasn't going to untie the thong on his clothes basket
until Gwendolyn was gone. He made himself stand quietly, displaying
no impatience while she spoke.
“Where would all of these nobles be without
ordinary folk like you and me to take care of them?” Gwendolyn
asked.
“Where, indeed?” Braedon responded, wishing
she would hurry with her story.
“If you rescue Lady Catherine, Lord Royce
will look more kindly on you. And if I help you and we catch Lord
Achard, there will be a reward in it for me, won't there?”
Braedon gaped at her, restraining the urge to
shake her. He wasn't surprised that Gwendolyn knew who were the
objects of the castle-wide search, for all it was being done so
quietly, while most of the inhabitants of Wortham were still in
their beds. Servants always knew more than their masters about what
was really going on, a fact Braedon had often used to his own
advantage when seeking information.
“What are you saying?” he asked carefully,
trying to appear calm. “If you have knowledge of Lady Catherine's
whereabouts, why haven't you told anyone?”
“I'm telling you now,” Gwendolyn pointed out.
“Aldis would know if she'd been paying attention. She is Lady
Catherine's companion, after all. But she's too busy these days,
fluttering her eyelashes at that handsome squire of yours, and Lady
Catherine is too kind-hearted to scold the silly wench for it.
Anyway, I have only just made certain of where Lady Catherine is,
and I came straight to you.”
“Gwendolyn,” Braedon said, very slowly and
distinctly, “where is Catherine?”
“Come with me and I'll show you,” Gwendolyn
said. “Be quiet about it. You don't want to alert Achard. He's
bedding his doxy right now, but he has sharp ears.”
“Are you saying that Achard has a lover here
at Wortham?” Braedon exclaimed.
“Didn't you know?” Gwendolyn smirked at him.
“Aye, Achard's a sly one. Nasty, too. He hit me twice. Lord Royce
has never hit me, not in all the years I've been at Wortham, nor
Lady Catherine, either. Are you coming?”
“I'm right behind you.” Under the present
circumstances, Braedon didn't really trust anyone at Wortham except
the few men he knew to be honest. Even good servants could be
corrupted, but he decided to take the chance that Gwendolyn was
telling the truth, that she did know where Catherine was, and that
she was appreciative enough of the kind treatment she received at
Wortham to be willing to see Catherine freed from Achard's
clutches.
“Where are we going?” Braedon asked as he
followed Gwendolyn down and around the spiraling staircase. “We
must be below the level of the great hall by now.”
“So we are.” Gwendolyn was holding a clay
lamp in one hand and the meager flame sent exaggerated shadows
flickering along the stone walls. They came to a heavy wooden door
that was barred.
“Slide the bar back,” Gwendolyn said, “and
leave the door open. If the search parties come this far and find
us, it won't matter. You and I will still be the first ones
there.”
With Braedon following she went through the
doorway and down a long set of steps that led to the lowest level
of the castle. The air grew colder and damper with every step they
took, and each footfall echoed off the stone walls.
“We must be heading for the dungeon,” Braedon
said, keeping his voice low.
“Where else would you hide a prisoner?”
Gwendolyn asked. “One of those wise nobles up above should have
thought of it hours ago. Or Captain William should have. He usually
has more common sense than most nobles.”
The stairs ended in a small anteroom from
which extended an unlit corridor. When Gwendolyn held her oil lamp
higher Braedon could see a row of closed doors. Gwendolyn indicated
a ring of keys hanging from a hook set into the wall.
“Those will open the cells,” she said. “I'm
not sure which one Lady Catherine is in. I only heard Achard say
she is safely locked in the dungeon.”
“You mean, you were listening at a keyhole,”
Braedon said.
“What I overheard is to your benefit.”
Gwendolyn was unrepentant. “And to Lady Catherine's.”
“To your benefit, too.” Braedon's tone was
mild, rather than accusing. He had listened at a few keyholes
himself during the performance of his secret duties for the
king.
He removed the keys from their hook and while
Gwendolyn held the light so he could see the keyholes, Braedon
tried each door. They found Catherine in the last room on the
right.
She was standing somewhat unsteadily in the
middle of the cell, her hands balled into fists, eyes bright with
defiance. The bruise on her chin was a dark reminder of Achard's
violence. Catherine did not relax when she saw Braedon. She met his
relieved expression with a fierce glare.
“Well, Sir Murderer,” she cried, “have you
come to kill me, too?”
“Don't be an ass,” Gwendolyn said. “We're
here to rescue you.”
“I refuse to go anywhere with this man. I
marvel that you are helping him,” Catherine said to her.
“We can talk later.” Seeing how she trembled,
Braedon put out a hand to take her arm. “For now, we all need to
get out of here before Achard decides to check on you.”
“No.” Catherine sidestepped Braedon's reach.
“My father’s blood is on those hands.”
“Stop your whining and come with us,”
Gwendolyn said, “or will Braedon have to hit you and carry you the
way Achard did? Do you have some aversion to traveling up and down
the dungeon steps on your own feet?”
“Gently, Gwendolyn,” Braedon murmured.
“Catherine has been hurt, and earlier tonight she received a great
shock.”
“You killed my father!” Catherine shrieked at
him.
“I can explain,” Braedon said.
“I don't want to hear your excuses. There
is
no excuse for what you've done.”
“Oh, for the love of heaven!” Gwendolyn
declared. “Quit babbling, and let's leave before Achard decides to
come down here and force himself on Catherine.”
“Too late,” said Achard, strolling into the
cell, sword in hand. “Braedon, your head is harder than I thought.
I expected you to be discovered unconscious on the steps outside
the lord's chamber. I cherished a fond hope that Captain William
would hang you before morning. I am sorely disappointed to find you
still alive.”
“Captain William would never act in haste,
not even when dealing with a murderer,” Catherine said. “He will
take Braedon to King Henry and present the evidence against him
there. Then Braedon will hang. And I will watch.” She regarded
Braedon with cold hostility.
“Of course, my dear.” Achard smiled at her.
“I see a certain justice in that notion. On the same day when
Braedon dies, you and I will marry. And that night, while Braedon's
lifeless body still dangles from the gibbet, I will get my heir on
you.”